| When was the last time you felt so happy
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| You had to give yourself a good pinch
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| When did you ever fail one of life’s highs
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| Without using stepladder or winch
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| That’s why the lifeless crave the past
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| 'Cause when they’re flogged, stoned, lynched
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| They can watch the living fizzle out to nought
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| Without even moving one inch
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| That’s what keeps you alive
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| The thought of undeserved death
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| That’s why cynics deep-sea dive
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| Just to watch someone healthy lose breath
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| That’s what really makes you tick
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| When the fearless are stopped in their tracks
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| Optimism looks up counts the stars
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| Pessimism looks down and counts cracks
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| That Monday morning moaners club
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| That meet every week on park bench
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| At least they’ve earned their grumble stripes
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| When they fought tooth and nail in the trench
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| If you ever sat down in one place too long
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| They’d need a fork-lift truck and a wrench
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| Indecision drip feeds modesty
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| But apathy fails even to quench
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| That’s what keeps you alive
|
| The thought of undeserved death
|
| That’s why cynics deep-sea dive
|
| Just to watch someone healthy lose breath
|
| That’s what really makes you tick
|
| When the fearless are stopped in their tracks
|
| Optimism looks up counts the stars
|
| Pessimism looks down and counts cracks
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| And even when it’s every man for himself
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| You still like to stick with the bunch
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| You’d rather tag along at the back of the crowd
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| To risk anything on a hunch
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| That’s what keeps you alive
|
| The thought of undeserved death
|
| That’s why cynics deep-sea dive
|
| Just to watch someone healthy lose breath
|
| That’s what really makes you tick
|
| When the fearless are stopped in their tracks
|
| Optimism looks up counts the stars
|
| Pessimism looks down and counts cracks |